Sweat-soaked bodies pressed together, skin on molten skin. The wordless dance of two people, lost in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
This is what Olivia feels: the heat between her legs, her core spontaneously combusting within her. Temporarily blinded, all she can do is savor it, ride it out until it no longer remains.
As her body hums, slowly regressing back to its neutral state, only then does she allow herself to gaze upon the one who gives her such pleasure.
In the moments before her eyes fall upon them, she is acutely aware of the nimble, thin fingers within her; the body below her smaller than recognition.
And as she tilts her head down to properly thank her lover, she is dumbstruck by who is underneath her.
Herself.
Olivia jolts upright, her mind brought abruptly back to consciousness.
It takes her a moment, but the large, solidness of her round stomach grounds her to the bed once again. She cranes her neck and sighs in relief when she finds Peter next to her under the sheets. Her hand goes to her pregnant belly, not to caress it as she normally would, but to verify its truth, and almost question it.
She looks down to where her baby lives inside her womb, and her mind begins rationalizing her dream.
I have been awfully hormonal lately.
I have weird sex dreams all the time, now.
Out loud, Olivia whispers, "But what was that?"
A sharp intake of air next to her surprises her, and she looks over to find Peter waking at the sound of her voice.
"Liv? What's wrong?" His eyes squint, hiding from the sunlight flooding the room.
"Nothing. I'm fine," she says, unsure.
He props up on his elbow, adopting a look of doubt and worry.
"We're fine," Olivia insists. "Go back to bed. I'm going to get some water."
Olivia slides her legs off the bed and drops to the cold, hardwood floor below. She pads her way to the kitchen, waddling down the hall.
The baby is so big, now, she thinks. I can hardly close my legs anymore.
Olivia stops, mid-corner, by the humor in her thought. She shakes the idea from her head and continues.
Retrieving a glass from the cabinet, she fills it almost to the brim with ice-cold water from the tap. The glass is empty in four swallows, and she fills it a second time.
This time, she only sips at the water, staring off into the house, focusing on nothing.
She doesn't flinch when Peter shuffles tiredly into the kitchen, watching her. She ignores him as he comes up to her and places a gentle hand on her extended abdomen. Only when he brings his other hand to her cheek does she turn to him, and he catches her with a quick kiss.
"Good morning," he says, his voice hoarse and gravelly with sleep.
Olivia smiles. "Mornin'," she tells him. He moves down the counter to start a pot of coffee and she leans against it, hands gentle around her stomach.
"I had a dream last night."
"Oh?" he asks, yawning. The coffee maker beeps at him.
"It was one of those dreams," she clarifies, her hands moving in unconscious circles over the slft fabric of her nightshirt.
"Oh," he says, turning back to the machine. "Who was it this time? George Washington, Albert Einstein, Walter…"
Olivia scoffs. "No, thank God. No, this time," she pauses, "it was a woman."
The coffee started, Peter also leans back against the counter, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Who was it?" he asks, and she realizes he is having way too much fun with this.
Olivia crosses her arms atop her belly, across her chest. "I think it was me," she says nervously. "Or, the other version of me. I don't really remember."
Peter's hand covers his jaw, and he is silent until he bursts out laughing. He doubles over, he's laughing so hard.
"What is so funny?" Olivia asks, irritated.
Peter inhales and exhales a few times, trying to calm himself down. It doesn't work very well. But through his laughs, he says, "You guys would kill each other!"